


He Was Called "Friend"

by TheArchimage



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Native American Character(s), Native American/First Nations Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2018-04-08
Packaged: 2019-04-20 03:58:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14252568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheArchimage/pseuds/TheArchimage
Summary: “I think you would make a fine king. You’re kind, patient, and full of love. And you’d have me to help you! Don’t you see? We could change things. Humans wouldn’t have to be afraid of monsters. Monsters would be able to live with us in peace.” The fire in his eyes and the defiant smile on his face made Asgore believe it was really possible. “Just imagine what we could do if we were in charge.”Asgore learns the ultimate fate which befell the first human he ever met and all his people. As he reminisces about his time before the sealing, he also realizes things about the nature of friendship, the limits of power... and what it means to rule.





	He Was Called "Friend"

**Author's Note:**

> So I am late, very late, on updating my main fic. Sorry about that, folks. As a sort-of apology I have this fic for you. Don't forget to leave comments or kudos if you enjoy it. Yes, I realize child Asgore is using they/them pronouns in the first part of the story. This is intentional, I’m doing a Thing.
> 
> Cultural Note: I have attempted to treat the First Nations people depicted in this fic as faithfully and respectfully as possible, but since there is so little information available about the specific tribe mentioned I have had to make educated guesses of what their culture must have been like. No disrespect is intended, and if someone with more knowledge in this subject were to educate me I will make corrections with all haste. That being said, some characters in this story are less-than-respectful towards indigenous peoples; the opinions expressed by the characters on these and other topics do not necessarily reflect those of the author.

The wooden walls loomed overhead, nearly as tall as the nearby trees. Small wonder, as they had been made by pulling trees down and fashioning them into logs to bury and stack vertically next to each other. The tops had been sharpened and the sides waxed and cured to prevent decay and discourage climbing, both from within and without. Beyond them lived the humans, who feared the monsters. The threat of magic kept the humans from encroaching, but a lone monster could be set upon and killed easily. Children must not leave the safety of the walls. No one would ever know what happened to a child who disobeyed; their bodies would become dust and be lost in the woods in no time at all, so they would simply vanish without a trace.

But it was in a child’s nature to disobey the rules set out before them. No matter how dire the warnings or severe the punishment, there would always be at least one youth who would test their limits that far. Most monster children would not have dared break this rule, but Asgore was a Boss Monster. Even as a child they were stronger than most adults, and their confidence in their own skills was only matched by their boredom. They were certain they could blast any human who found them and make their getaway before the smoke cleared, no problem. They even knew how to get past the walls; there was only ever a single guard in charge of keeping monsters inside, and Verdana was one of the monsters in the rotation. That skeleton was so lazy. She never took her job seriously! Then again, no monster ever tried to leave without good reason and even then gave plenty of warning to the gatekeepers. So she would usually fall asleep a couple hours into her shift, and then it was a simple matter of waiting until there was nobody else around. And of course, getting back before her shift ended so they could sneak back inside.

They had been doing this for about a year now, and the wonder of it was starting to wear off. They had explored most of the woods and knew every brook and hill between the monster village and the human lands. Once, they even came within sight of the rows of tents and longhouses which made up the human tribal homes. But even they did not dare venture further, or even that far again. They wished they could bring someone else with them to show them what the forest outside the monster compound looked like, but the other children tended to avoid them. Probably scared of his prodigious powers! He was not yet old enough to realize royalty and commoners lived in different worlds, and allowing Asgore into their circle of friends was more stress than many monsters wanted to deal with. So Asgore was mostly alone, sometimes playing with the other Boss Monster children but not often. They were all nearly adults, the youngest being more than twice Asgore’s age, so few of them cared to spend time with a runt and a brat like Asgore. This left him plenty of time to amuse himself, and perhaps that was why he persisted in this petty rebellion long after the danger and the thrill had faded.

They found him in a grassy field ringed by trees where the wild oats had not yet grown high. He was unlike any animal they had ever met before, hairless except for dark strands at the very top of his head and thin brows just above his eyes. Despite this they knew what he was on sight; no other creature who lived in these lands walked upright, had such piercing eyes, or wore the skins of animals to cover their modesty. This was a human, but unlike any Asgore had ever heard of. In the stories humans were violent and dangerous beasts, able to kill scores of monsters with their bare hands. But the human they saw was the same height they were, and while lean and fit and armed with a spear he did not look terribly dangerous. Rather than armor or war paint the human was dressed in a plain tan poncho. The human locked eyes with him, then gasped and stumbled backward. The human raised their spear but their stance was shaky and awkward, their grip too tight and their hands spaced too far apart. “Howdy!” Asgore said as he stepped forward and held out their hand. The human shuffled backwards, waving the spearpoint in Asgore’s direction to stop their advance. “You don’t have to be scared, I’m a kid too. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re close to the monster village; it’s not safe for you here, and we’re not safe with you here. I can lead you back to the human lands. By the way, my name’s Asgore.”

The human bit their lower lip, looking away. “I… really don’t know where I am. I would be very grateful if you could get me back home. I… I have nothing to offer, but-”

“It’s fine!” they insisted. “If I was lost I’d really like for someone to help me out.” The boy furrowed his brow, looking everywhere but directly at Asgore, and they thought for a moment he might charge at them anyway. Instead the human’s shoulders relaxed, the tension in his neck vanished, and he nodded only once as he lifted his spear to point towards the sky. “I’ll lead the way!” Asgore skipped past, waving for the boy to follow. They slowed their steps and strained their ears, only picking up the pace again when he heard the boy’s footsteps mirror his own.

Once they got under the canopy Asgore asked, “So… what brings you here? Did you get lost while out playing, or escape from your minder, or…?” They were hoping for the human to fill in the silence but only the birds took the invitation to do so. “That’s a, uh, nice… spear? Do you use that for hunting?” Again, nothing. Asgore tried not to be offended; he was a human, of course he would be uncomfortable in the presence of a monster. This was the way the world was. Why had he expected different? But he had. He had wanted to be the boy’s friend, because seriously, a human friend? How cool was that! It was not to be. He tried to console himself by reasoning that at least the boy would be safe, and he would spread tales of how helpful the monster he met was, and maybe someday monsters and humans wouldn’t fear each other. Cold comfort to a child, for whom the world and the clash of civilizations were too large and grand for them to grasp and therefore unimportant next to their own needs and desires.

In what felt like no time at all, the two of them had made it through the lands claimed by the monsters and close to the human settlements. “Your home should be that way,” Asgore said, pointing through the trees. “I’m sorry I can’t get closer than this, it isn’t safe for me. But… um, I think you’ll be alright.” They stepped backwards. “I-it was nice to meet you. Thank you for… not killing me. Uh, bye.”

No sooner had he turned around then the human child spoke, “Monster.” Asgore stopped in his tracks. The human was staring at him with fascination. “You gave me your name when we first met. How old are you?”

Asgore shrugged. “This is my eighth spring.”

A skeptical pause. “So… monsters can tell anyone their name? Even children?”

“Of… course.” Asgore tilted their head. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong?”

“No, no. In fact, thank you. You saved my life. I saw the smoke and headed towards it thinking it was home… if I had tried to enter the Kingdom of Monsters I might have been killed.”

They did not contest his assertion. A human arriving unannounced on the steps of the monster village may well have died. “It was no trouble, um…” They stopped. “I never got your name. Do you not have one?”

The human shook his head. “I… do have a name, but I can’t give it out. Names are… they’re important. I haven’t earned mine yet.”

Asgore blinked. He had a name but couldn’t use it? That made no sense to them. Humans had such strange customs. “So what do they call you?”

He shrugged. “Lots of things. Child. Son. Kid. Young one.”

“But that’s what you are, not who you are!” Asgore laughed, but cut themself off when they noticed the boy was not joining them. They did not understand what the boy meant but they most definitely did not want to offend him. They thought for a moment before coming up with an idea. “Hey, how about I call you Angwe?” (”friend”)

The boy looked down at his feet for a moment before nodding slowly. “… Angwe. I guess that would be okay. But if you’re looking for something to call me… it means you don’t want this to be the last time we see each other. Would you like to meet again?”

“Of course!” Asgore had to qualify their statement, “But only every four days. This’s the only time I can sneak out without getting caught.”

Angwe accepted this information. “About this time, every four days. I will remember. You… you are not at all like the monsters from our stories.”

“And you aren’t like the humans from our stories.” Asgore laughed, and Angwe laughed back. It was a lovely sound, like a brook passing by a rocky shore. They wanted to hear it again. “Every four days then, I’ll come out to see you.”

He smiled. “I’d like that. I think I’d like that a lot.”

* * *

Much later, after many centuries of living in darkness, monsters returned to the surface. The story of how monsters were sealed underground had been completely forgotten by the humans, as if they had never existed at all. As soon as things were not quite so hectic Asgore commissioned a report to find out why. Asgore held this report in his hands and had just finished reading through it. He closed the folder and tilted his head back. He inhaled deeply through his nose as his chair creaked from the effort of supporting his weight. He had his suspicions all the way back when he first saw Chara. Such strange clothes! Such pale skin! But now he knew for sure. He never forgot the Pennacook tribe, a group of what were now called Native Americans who lived in this area in the time before the monsters were imprisoned. The Pennacooks were one of the first tribes to meet with European settlers but their friendliness did not save them. First wracked with diseases brought by the settlers, then picked apart by surrounding tribes, and finally they were all but annihilated when war broke out between the natives and the colonists. Some members of the tribe were able to flee west or north, losing their history through intermarriage and assimilation. While descendants of those survivors still lived, the Pennacook as a political entity or tribal identity no longer existed. And when their culture died their history died with them, their oral tales vanishing into the mists. Gone were the tales of the monsters. Gone was the story of how they were sealed away. Gone, too, were their own legends and histories and mythologies. Humans did not like the idea of knowledge being lost, of entire civilizations fading into dust, but it happened far more often than they wanted to admit. So the Pennacook vanished, and with them the legend of the mountain and the stories of the war and so much else.

That was the way the world was.

He lifted himself from his seat, suddenly filled with a nervous energy. “Camille, I am going out,” he told his secretary. “I can be reached by cell phone if needed, but barring an extreme emergency I do not intend to return today.”

His secretary, a tall lizard-like monster with her two eyes on opposite sides of her head, stopped typing when he left his office. She tilted to the side to fix him with her right eye alone, her pupil making sporadic and minute movements which were easy to read as nervousness but were anything but. “Ms. Toriel wanted me to remind you Frisk is on a field trip with their class and there is no need for you to pick them up today.”

“I remember,” Asgore said as he plucked his coat off the hanger. “I am taking some personal time.”

Camille stood very still for precisely three seconds and only then did she return to typing on the computer, her green-scaled fingers tak-tak-tak-ing on the keys so fast it sounded like a machine gun firing. “It must be bad if you of all people wish to be alone.”

“It’s nothing as serious as that. I just want to spend some time with an old friend.”

“You do not need to share anything with me, sir. It’s not my place to pry. Please enjoy yourself, I will lock up when I leave.”

He thanked her and walked out, down the stairs, and onto the street. So far the Monster Integration Committee only had enough staff to rent out a small office space above a laundromat, but things were progressing well. Monsters could walk down the street of this one city without fear or reproachful looks, which was more than they expected even a few months ago. He waved and said “Howdy!” to the people he passed by, receiving polite waves from the humans and starstruck ones from the monsters. He was no longer their king but he would always be a celebrity in their eyes. Still, one who was familiar with him could tell there was something strange about his gait today. Rather than meandering the grid of streets he strode purposefully in one direction, his destination set, his route clear. He did not allow himself to get drawn into any discussions or small talk, offering only quick apologies and an explanation that he was on an errand and could not chat.

* * *

Asgore leaned back, taking in the countryside. From his vantage point he could see the whole valley, from the slopes of the mountains to the village of longhouses and _wigwam_ where the Pennacook lived during the farming seasons to the high wooden walls of the monster encampment and all the greenery in between. A breeze so gentle it could not flutter a single leaf caressed his face. “You didn’t need to do this,” Asgore said, though his words could not mask his appreciation.

“It’s worth celebrating,” Angwe insisted. The two boys sat next to each other, marveling at the view. “It’s a big deal when a boy becomes a man. Why wouldn’t it be the same for you when you decide you are a boy?”

“Because it’s personal,” Asgore explained. “Monsters aren’t like humans, we aren’t naturally born one way or the other. It is our choice and no one else’s what gender we are or even if we have one, and it only matters to us. There’s no correct time to do it and no pressing need, so it isn’t something we celebrate.”

“Then we can celebrate me becoming friends with another boy!” Angwe laughed as he hefted the bag. A wooden pipe, crudely carved but made with love, poked out from the middle of the drawn strings sealing the bag shut. “Normally the tobacco is mixed with various herbs, roots, and leaves. But I’m not old enough to be trusted with the recipe and couldn’t learn by watching. So I got some of the _mitàkozigan_ and mixed it with some of the other ingredients.” (”unmixed tobacco”)

Asgore chuckled. “As long as the right things are in there it shouldn’t matter. Besides, it’s a gift from you so I’ll be sure to enjoy it.” He reached out with his right hand to accept the gift, but Angwe sucked in air between his teeth and he pulled back with a wince. Asgore stopped reaching and looked up, knowing he had done something to offend but unsure what.

Angwe swallowed and gave a weak smile. When he spoke again his voice was somber and reverent. “Of course… you wouldn’t know. It’s not your fault. But tobacco is sacred. You must always handle it with your left, because that’s the hand closest to your heart.” Asgore was fairly certain he did not have a heart in the physical sense of the term but nodded, slowly withdrawing his right arm and reaching with his left. This time Angwe handed the bag over without a fuss.

Asgore opened the bag slightly to sniff the contents. He recoiled from the pungent stench and wrinkled his nose. “Is this really safe?”

“It’s just plants and berries and stuff. It can’t hurt you. But not yet. It’s not for children, you can’t smoke it until you’re an adult.”

Asgore looked down at the bag and the pipe. “Then why give it to me now?”

“Because I’ll be a man soon.” Angwe pulled his knees up to his chest. “When I’m an adult I won’t have free time anymore. Cleaning, preparing food, hunting, learning. Everyone will be counting on me to do my part, and if I sneak off to play with monsters the whole tribe will suffer. I’ll always be busy, and… You said monsters don’t farm tobacco, right? This will be the only chance you’ll ever get to smoke.”

He said it. The horrible truth neither of them had been willing to confront up to this point. “So… we won’t see each other again.”

“I won’t say ‘never’. But not like this we won’t.” The boy frowned suddenly and blinked. “Hey, do monsters ever give thanks to Mother Earth and the Great Spirit?”

“I don’t know those names, so probably not. I mean, we’re grateful to the soil we grow food from and the sun that warms us, but not as, like, spirits. They’re gods to you, right?”

“Sorta, but not the way you think of as ‘gods’. It’s… hard to explain in words. But if you don’t believe in them then where do you think monsters came from?”

“I don’t know,” Asgore said, frowning. “I never thought about it. Oh! But we do have a story about monsters and humans!”

This caught his attention. “Really? Can you tell it to me?”

“I can recite the short version.” Asgore cleared his throat and closed his eyes to help focus on the words. “A long time ago monsters didn’t have bodies. We lived only as formless spirits. We could float through the world but could never touch it. We tried to tell the plants and animals of our plight but they did not listen, or they did not care. One day we found humans, and they thought it was terrible to live without ever being about to touch anything. The humans offered to make bodies for us but did not know how. But then-”

Angwe interrupted him, asking, “So you believe humans created monsters?”

Asgore shook his head. “Not created… we existed long before we ever met humans. But let me finish!” Angwe nodded and his eyes bore holes into Asgore, silently imploring him to continue. “Anyway, humans thought so hard about how to give monsters bodies that they fell asleep, and being unable to help upset them so much they had nightmares. The monsters saw the humans tossing and turning and took the nightmares away. Then the monsters realized they could turn the bad dreams into physical forms for themselves. They didn’t realize the problem until the humans woke up. The humans recognized the nightmares, and they screamed and screamed at the sight of the monsters. And that’s why humans are so scared of monsters, because they can’t help but think of scary dreams when they see us.”

Angwe did not say anything for a while. When they did their eyes traced over the river, pointedly not looking at Asgore. “That is similar to a story we have about the Great Spirit and the creation of the world. In our story, the Great Spirit fell asleep and dreamed of many strange animals, and when he awoke he saw his dream had become all the creatures of the world including humans. Then, do you think it’s true? Did we make bodies for you the same way we were created?”

Asgore shrugged. “Never thought about it. It doesn’t matter either way, it’s a story. We don’t tell it because it’s true but because it tells us things that are true. That’s what my mom and dad say.”

The human boy stared into the distance, squinting against the rays of the sun. “I… think I get it.”

“I don’t.” Angwe turned on him with wide eyes, and Asgore could not help but giggle at the reaction his little trick earned. Angwe shoved him onto his side and joined him in his laughter.

For a time neither of them said anything else. They were enjoying the sun on their face, the wind through their hair and fur, and the sickly sweet aroma of the adulterated tobacco leaking through the bag. And, of course, each other’s presence. It was Angwe who broke the silence. “Hey, Asgore. You’re one of the strongest of your kind, right?”

“Yes. Boss Monsters are much stronger than ordinary monsters. That’s why all the Boss Monsters are royalty, even those born to commoners.”

Angwe grinned. “I just got an idea. You could be the king of your people, just like someday I might become chief of mine.”

Asgore shook his head. “I’m sixth in line. I won’t be king unless none of the rest can do it. To be honest… I don’t think I’d make a good king.”

“I think you would make a fine king. You’re kind, patient, and full of love. And you’d have me to help you! Don’t you see? We could change things. Humans wouldn’t have to be afraid of monsters. Monsters would be able to live with us in peace.” The fire in his eyes and the defiant smile on his face made Asgore believe it was really possible. “Just imagine what we could do if we were in charge.”

“We would teach your people magic,” Asgore said. “Not just the shamans and the wise people, all of them. They could do everything, even the mundane tasks like cooking and cleaning, with magic like we do.”

“And we could teach the monsters how to hunt, and how to fight! How to recognize the good plants from the bad.”

“There wouldn’t be a need for the walls. We wouldn’t have to sneak out like this just to see each other.”

“All the monster kids playing with all the human kids.”

“Human adults building a tribe with monster adults.”

Angwe’s eyes were shining. “Let’s do it. The next time we meet, we’ll be in charge. We’ll help everyone!”

“Yes,” Asgore agreed, smiling in wonder and delight. He could see it so clearly. “Hey, can you tell me your name? I want to greet you with it when we see each other.”

Angwe shifted nervously. “But… I’m not allowed to yet…”

“You’ll be a man by the time you are, right? It’s not like I’ll use it before you’re ready.”

“… Okay. But you can’t tell anyone else. It’s something just between us, yeah?” Asgore nodded. So Angwe cupped his hand around Asgore’s ear and softly whispered his name.

“I like it,” Asgore said. “It makes you sound strong.”

“You say that like I’m not strong!” That set the two boys laughing again, for what was likely to be the last time for a long while. But neither of them were sad, because every day that passed from then on was one day closer to the time their dream would come true.

The next time Asgore left the village Angwe was not waiting for him. Nor was he there the time after that, nor the time after that. After a month Asgore had no choice but to accept reality. At least he got a warning. At least they had that one final promise. He gave up his youthful past-time and no longer sneaked out of the village.

* * *

Asgore took a deep steadying breath. He had passed by this place during his numerous walks about town, but he had never ventured inside. Usually the door was open to let the smoke waft out, but it was far too cold and too dry today to risk damage to the product. Once he became aware of this store’s location Asgore subconsciously tried to avoid it; the scent of burning tobacco brought up too many too old memories. But today… today he would face it head-on. Making a purchase at a cigar shop was the very least he could do after all this time.

Asgore stepped inside and took a deep whiff. The pungent, sweet scent of cigar smoke was quite different from the mixed and packed tobacco he received in his youth but he was still hopeful. It was so many scents and flavors mixing together which made it so powerful, that was all. A bell on the door jingled behind him as the front door shut itself and locked out the cold. Several chairs and a couch faced each other in the area immediately to Asgore’s left as he entered. An old man with a thick cigar hanging out of his mouth lounged in a recliner, while a young man hardly out of his teens sat on the couch fiddled with his phone in one hand while a similar cigar burned away in the other hand. The younger man turned to Asgore, blinked at the sight of the Boss Monster, but nodded a greeting as he came to his senses. The right side of the shop was dominated by a walk-in humidor, sealed tightly against the cold and locked to prevent access but with glass windows for the aficionados to stare and covet the highest quality smokes. The walls were plastered with photographs of people smoking cigars, cigarettes, and pipes as well as advertisements for the same products. In the middle of the floor were several rotating chairs in rather shabby states of disrepair, the upholstery cracked and leaking cotton batting in places. The register was nestled into the back corner of the store, as though the shop was trying to forget that despite its homey and nostalgic interior their ultimate purpose was still mercenary in nature. Just behind it several jars of loose tobacco with their (very reasonable) prices written on cards and taped to the sides were lined up along shelves nailed directly into the wall.

And next to them, ah, next to them was a wooden statue of a man standing tall and wearing a stern expression. Wrinkles had been delicately carved into his face to give him an aged appearance. His hair was hidden under a splendid headdress of feathers trailing all the way down his back. The statue’s left hand was down at this side, his right hand held in a loose fist near his stomach. The wood was unpainted, but instead given a lacquer finish to darken the wood and protect it from the elements. It had been visible, if only barely, through the window, and that was what convinced him to try his luck. True, he was not entirely sure what he was looking for; he only attempted to smoke what Angwe had given him twice, failing both times, before burning the entire stash in a fit of rage. His tongue had not been nearly delicate or experienced enough to tell what ingredients had been used to make it, but if anyone could reverse-engineer a thousand year old recipe these folks could. Or at least they could offer a decent substitute.

“G’d evening,” the younger man from the couch said as he stood up. “Yer, uh… yer Asgore, aincha? The king of them monsters.”

“I have not been king for some time,” Asgore said. “But they still look up to me as a leader. I am here on personal business; I was wondering if you could help me find something.”

“We got lotsa stuff here, so long as you’re lookin’ for a smoke.” Shrug. “We got pipes, cigars, chew… cigarettes too, but not the kind what comes in cartons.”

“Pipes, you say?” Asgore stroked his beard. “Yes, that suits my needs. I am looking for a particular blend, one which may have been smoked by the native peoples who lived in this region prior to colonization. Could you help me with that?”

The clerk blinked dumbly. “Did the Indians smoke?”

A great chasm opened up in Asgore’s chest. A less diplomatic man would have pointed out the wood-carved Native American statue. Asgore instead smiled thinly. “It may have depended on the tribe.”

The clerk nodded as if this made perfect sense to him. “We’re just a humble smoke shop. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Something like that, you might have to special order.”

“Even if ya did yer outta luck!” The old man on the recliner craned his neck over his shoulder to look at the two of them, laughing through a mouthful of yellowed and crooked teeth. The cigar danced up and down as he talked, his skilled tongue dancing around the intruding object without slurring his speech or ejecting the item. “They don’t make tobacco like the kind the Injuns used to have. Nowadays it’s all GMO _crapola_. Upped the nicotine and loaded it with chemicals and pesticides and junk! It don’t taste the same, and it never will again!”

Asgore felt his shoulders droop. “Oh,” was all he said immediately. His attention turned to the jars of loose-leaf tobacco on the shelves. So many kinds and varieties, but none of them could be what he was looking for. If all of it was going to be wrong it hardly mattered what he got. He pointed to one in the median price range. “In that case I’ll take a few ounces of that one. Also a pipe. Oh, and… erm, well, how do I use one? It has been quite a while and I want to be sure I am doing it correctly.”

This was something the clerk was clearly much more knowledgeable about. Asgore followed the explanation as best he could but this thoughts wandered. He did not understand the workings of his own mind. He came to this store to see if they had that particular blend and been disappointed, but what if he had actually found the unique and sacred blend of the Pennacooks had been commodified and was being sold alongside hundreds of other tobacco blends? He would have been furious for reasons he could not articulate. But now that he knew he could not get it for love or money he was despondent. No matter what the outcome he would not have been happy.

The clerk finished ringing up the sale. His left hand held his cigar in three fingers, his right offered Asgore’s purchases to him. “Sorry I didn’t have the Indian stuff for you.” He really did sound sorry, but if he said that word one more time Asgore was going to set fire to something.

Asgore wanted to say something but what would the point of it be? He reached with his left hand to accept his goods. “It is quite alright. I was aware from the start that it was an impossible request.” He waved goodbye and left the shop as though fleeing from a crime scene. He only lifted his head once he was outside, his eyes drawn to the skyline in the distance, searching past the city and into the hills for somewhere he could look down on the environs like so long ago.

* * *

There had been no warning, no messengers, no visible lead-up. The humans had formed what at first seemed like a large hunting party until it was clear by their path they were heading straight toward the monsters’ home. The monsters sent out delegates to discuss matters, but the surviving diplomats claimed the humans attacked without warning. Every boss monster save Asgore donned their armor and made ready for war.

“You must stay here,” they told him. “You must be ready to defend our people in case this is a diversion.” He was not fooled: he was young and weak. They did not want him anywhere near the battle. And what really irked him was, they were absolutely right to. While still stronger than most monsters Asgore’s magic paled next to his siblings, cousins, parents, aunts, uncles. He was the youngest of the Boss Monsters, still not reached his full growth yet, so he had to be kept away from danger. He was the designated survivor if anything went wrong, not that anyone expected that would be needed. Humans were stronger than monsters, true, but humans were not nearly as skilled in the use of magic. Theoretically they would be equal. And if the monsters managed to kill a single human, just one, they could absorb the human soul and lay waste to dozens of humans at once. Like a snowball rolling down a hill, once it got started nothing would stop it until the entire human army had been destroyed. As for what happened afterward… well, that was why monsters had never wanted a war.

So when a single turtle monster returned from the battlefield claiming to be the only survivor, Asgore had initially not believed the young recruit. But as the fires of war burned closer and the army which returned bore war paint mixed with the dust of his family and their entire retinue Asgore was forced to accept the truth. The theories were wrong: monster magic was far inferior to human strength. More than that, however, he felt a heavy weight collapse on his shoulders. There was no other viable candidate, and there would not be one unless and until by some miracle a Boss Monster would be born to commoner parents. The monsters could not be without a leader for a single day. Asgore must become king. After a hasty ceremony the newly crowned King Asgore Dreemurr looked up at the sky as though his eyes could drink the clouds. In that case, his first act as King would have to be… he shut his eyes. “Send a messenger to the human armies. Tell them the monsters… surrender unconditionally.”

He felt hope when the messenger returned and told him the chief of the human tribe would allow Asgore to leave and meet with him in his tent. This was it, then. The one chance Asgore had to save his people. He carried no weapon when he walked out of the main gate, only the pipe his friend had given him only ten years ago. Had it been so short? This day alone had felt like lifetimes. The humans surrounded the village, their war cries rising to a crescendo as Asgore stepped into the tent. A man was there waiting for him, wearing the same war paint as his subjects (fellow tribesmen? Asgore was uncertain what the proper term was), sitting opposite the tent opening with a cooking fire between them. The young man’s face was hardened by age and by trial, but there was certainly something he recognized. The man blinked when he saw the Boss Monster enter. “So you live,” he said. “I am glad.”

Asgore felt his face grow hot and despite the events of the last day he felt a smile pull at his lips. “Are… are you…?”

The chief raised his hand to stop Asgore. “Please, call me Angwe. Names are only used with great respect,” His words were heavy with sorrow. “In this place, at this time, I must be very disrespectful to you. I do not deserve to hear my name from your lips.”

Asgore hesitated before sitting down, puzzled. Hadn’t they talked about this? Asgore was king, Angwe was chief. Despite the way it had happened things would be better now. They could change things. So why was he so crestfallen? “I… was hoping you could explain what is going on. We have much to offer each other; that has not changed since we were children. With things as they are I expect our cooperation may be… one-sided to start, but…” He offered the empty pipe for Angwe to fill. “Don’t we still want the same thing?”

Angwe made no motion to reach for the pipe. “We are not here to discuss the terms of your surrender. We are here so I may tell you the decision of the tribe. They…” He steeled his resolve. “No, we. I do not agree with their decision but I remain their chief. _We_ will give you orders, and you will follow them. If you do not agree to our conditions we will attack immediately. There will be no chance for you to offer amendments or counter-offers. Agree and live, or refuse and die. Those are your only options.”

Asgore frowned, looking from his old friend to the pipe and back again. Finally he set it by the fire so that one or the other could reach for it when they were ready. “I see,” he said breathlessly. “So that is how it is. Very well, we have no power to refuse you. Tell us what your decision is. What must we do to save our lives?”

“You know of the mountain to the northwest?” Asgore nodded. Angwe inhaled through his nose with deliberate slowness. “There is a deep system of caves that spread underneath the whole mountain. You will lead your people there, into those caves. Once all of you are inside seven of our magic users will erect a barrier around the entire mountain. Anything will be able to enter, nothing except one with a powerful soul will be able to leave. There you will be imprisoned, for as long as we see fit.”

At first he thought he misheard. But no, the tent was quiet and Angwe had spoken very slowly and deliberately so he would be understood. He did not think it was a joke, Angwe and his warriors were still wearing the dust of his kin and countrymen. As reality settled in Asgore felt a fire in his head and a chill in his gut. “Do you truly know what you are doing?” Asgore’s jaw trembled. “Despair is deadly to us, Angwe! It would not be odd for half of us to Fall Down on the spot! And how many more will die next week when it becomes clear we will not wake from this nightmare? How many more when the seasons have turned four times and we ‘celebrate’ the first year of our banishment? And how many of us will be left when we realize an entire generation does not know what the sun and the stars and trees are? You are threatening us with extinction and calling it benevolence! I beg you, as a fellow leader, as a friend, do not do this thing. Haven’t you a speck of mercy left in your soul?”

Angwe’s face hardened as Asgore’s denunciation continued, and did not soften at his final plea. “This… _is_ our mercy. You must understand, the rest of the tribe, they did not want to accept your surrender at all. I begged and pleaded with them and this is the best I could manage. I took a great risk: our leaders only rule by consent, and my attempts at peace have made them angry with me. If you reject this, I will be ousted. Then there will be nothing to stop the destruction of your people.”

“And what do you call this? Killing us by the hundreds, forcing us to grovel for our lives, shutting us away forever!”

“No, not forever!” Angwe met his eyes for the first time. “I am still young, there are still many who doubt my wisdom. Over time I will lead them to prosperity and they will become more confident in me! They will see that I am right in so many things, and when the time comes I will ask them if I was right about this. Even if it takes ten or twenty years, I will free your people! I won’t let you rot underground forever!”

Asgore wanted to believe in him. He wanted to think his old friend had not abandoned him and his people. “If I may make a single request. A great many of us may Fall Down on hearing this news. They will lie very still, eyes open but unseeing. They will neither move nor respond. In a few days they will die and their bodies will turn to dust. At least… let their bodies remain. Allow them to die naturally.”

Angwe’s face remained dispassionate. “The monster village is surrounded. Any who attempt to escape tonight will be killed. As soon as you leave tomorrow we will sweep through the village; anyone left behind will be killed. We will be keeping close watch over the procession to the mountain; anyone caught fleeing will be killed. I am sorry, but the others are scared some will try to hide or fake their deaths to catch us in a surprise attack. They believe not a single monster must remain on the surface or they will seek revenge.”

So those overcome with despair would be butchered. Even their dead could not be left in peace. Perhaps it would still be preferable; their dust would spread on the surface, making them the last of the free monsters. “At least… as long as we are all trapped, humans will never fear monsters.”

“That is what the elders say.” Angwe sighed. “But they are wrong. I think, for as long as monsters remain under the mountain, humans will never not fear monsters. I know this is wrong, I know it is unjust. I won’t ask you to forgive me, but please… at least tell me you understand.”

Asgore stared into the fire. With a casual motion he picked up the pipe he had brought and tossed it into the embers. It was designed to resist burning, but Asgore added his own magical fire to the existing flames and it caught fire instantly. “The monsters accept your terms, chieftain. I will begin preparing my people for the move.”

The chief of the Pennacook tribe nodded. Asgore could not make out his expression in his peripheral vision but did nothing to get a better look. Instead he watched the burning pipe intently, resisting the urge to look up with every fiber of his being.

* * *

Asgore sat on the mountainside, looking down on the town of Weymouth. This may very well have been the same hill he and Angwe sat down on the last day they both were children. He could not tell; the landscape had changed too much. Where there may have been trees there were now roads, buildings, and houses. The sun was almost finished setting by the time he made it here, the final pale glow vanishing over the horizon. Far above the brightest of the stars dotted the sky, no more than a couple dozen but each time he looked up from now he knew they would multiply. Finding a rock large enough for his posterior, he brushed some of the dirt off it before sitting down.

Pipe in his right hand, he sprinkled the tobacco into it a little at a time. His back was to the wind, forming an effective shield that kept any of the strands from being blown away. A fire, his fire, danced in the air, providing light to work by but no heat. Once the pipe was full he tamped it down and took a test draw from the pipe end just as the clerk showed him. Too much resistance; he dumped the tobacco out and started over. He needed to fill and pack three times, and at no point should there have been more resistance than sucking through a straw. It took him several tries to achieve this feat, the night beginning in earnest by the time he declared his fifth attempt good enough.

Next was the lighting. This, at least, he expected no trouble with. His fire dipped into the pipe and swirled along the inside edge, working its way inside and out in circles to evenly heat the entire surface. While he directed the magical flame he took a few quick puffs, smiling as the tobacco bulged and swelled. This first light, the ‘false light’, removed any excess moisture and balanced out the density of the tobacco. He allowed the fire to go out and tamped the bulges down lightly, with ever so much care. Pushing too hard now would mean he would have to start over again. Not that he would have minded, his thick coat of fur and inexhaustible patience meant he would have no trouble staying out here all night if he had to, but there was equally no point in being sloppy about this. His flame dipped down again to light the true light, and finally, finally, he was ready.

He inhaled deeply, the fire and smoke searing his throat. He yanked the pipe out of his mouth by reflex and coughed into the crook of his arm, tears in his eyes. When he finally recovered he inspected the pipe as if hoping something would fall into place if he stared long enough. Then he carefully set it in a pipe holder so it could continue to burn without setting any of the grass alight. “Drat,” he said with a laugh. “Even after receiving proper instructions I have not become any better at this. I fear the technique of it will always elude me. I will leave the rest of it to you.” He nodded as though listening to a reply in the silence. He was not discouraged by his failure to enjoy smoking; there was a ritual to packing and lighting a pipe, not altogether unlike preparing a good cup of loose leaf tea. He could get to enjoy this part of the experience even if he did not care for the actual smoke. Then he stared up into the sky and his smile fell back down to earth.

When they were children they believed a leader could do whatever they wanted and pull their people along to a better path. But it was really the opposite, wasn’t it? The people pushed their leaders to the ends they wished, and the monarch could do naught but enact their desires. The more power one wielded, the more surely they were bound by tradition and duty. They were trapped by their obligations and the trust of their subjects. He knew that now. He imagined Angwe had felt the same way staring into that fire that Asgore felt looking down at Frisk for the first time.

It had taken a very long time for them to finally see eye to eye. Too long.

“I forgive you.”

He hoped a star would wink, or a comet would fall, or there would be some other obvious sign in the heavens to commemorate the event. But the passage of so many years between when the words needed to be heard and when they were finally spoken robbed them of their powers, and the deepness of the night swallowed them up without comment.

 


End file.
